At a poor man’s house: he used me kindly:
He cried to me; I saw him prisoner;
But then Aufidius was within my view,
And wrath o’erwhelmed my pity: I request you
To give my poor host freedom.
Cominius. O well begg’d!
Were he the butcher of my son, he should
Be free as is the wind. Deliver him, Titus.
Lartius. Marcius, his name?
Coriolanus. By Jupiter! forgot.